Dating Dr Delicious

What she got was indifferent professionalism.

He was right that the ICU patients took much longer to do rounds on. When they finished, she had a thick stack of cards with key information for each patient noted on them.

“Dr. Holt, could you tell me where the trauma-surgery call rooms are located?” she asked. She’d learned during the tour earlier that morning that each service had a group of call rooms, but she’d lost track of exactly which ones were located where.

He raised a brow. “Do you honestly think you’re going to be spending much time in your call room?” he asked with a note of sarcasm.

“No,” she answered candidly. “But I’d still like to know where they are, just in case by some miracle I am able to get one or two hours of sleep tonight.”

The corner of his mouth tipped upward in a half smile and she was grateful for the tiny crack of humanity beneath the layer of cool professionalism.

She much preferred Jake the man over Dr. Holt the chief of trauma surgery.

Get used to it, she reminded herself. From here on out, she was only working with Dr. Holt, the chief of trauma surgery. Jake the man didn’t exist.

Not for her. Not anymore.

“First floor, west corridor down the hall from the trauma bays,” he said. “You can pick up a key for the call rooms from the operator.”

“Thanks.” She was starving, having only eaten a handful of crackers from the ICU kitchenette for lunch, so she quickly ran down to get her key from the operator and then headed over to the cafeteria.

Apparently Jake had the same idea, to eat now before something bad happened, because he arrived as she was waiting for her chicken sandwich and fries. She saw him come up beside her out of the corner of her eye. She tried not to breathe in too deeply the familiar, musky scent of his aftershave.

A stirring of desire flickered low in her belly. She did her best to ignore it. Cripes, she really needed to get past this insane physical response to the man.

She quickly paid for her meal and then desperately glanced around the cafeteria for someplace to sit. She saw the familiar face of one of the other interns from her group, and quickly read his name tag. Kyle Franklin. “Hey, do you mind if I eat with you?”

“No problem,” Kyle said, waving a hand at the empty seat.

She sat down gratefully. “So what service did you end up on?” she asked conversationally.

“Ob-gyn,” he muttered with a grimace. “How about you?”

“Trauma,” she answered.

“Damn, you’re lucky. Summer is the best time to be on trauma. Of course, I’m not on the trauma service until November. Boring.” He took a bite of his pizza and then groaned when his pager went off. He glanced down at it with annoyance. “Great. A woman just arrived in active labor. Sorry to cut this short but I gotta go.” He shoved the last bit of pizza into his mouth and then took off running.

Alone again, Hannah sighed and took a bite of her chicken sandwich. She tensed when a familiar scent teased her senses.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” Jake asked.

The mouthful of food lodged in her throat and she had to take a sip of her water to prevent herself choking. Was he doing this on purpose? Why on earth had he chosen to come over to sit with her? On the other hand, how did you say no to the chief of trauma? “Ah, no, I don’t mind,” she managed. She set down her water with a jerky movement that almost upended the cup. “Dr. Franklin had to leave for a delivery.”

“You need to relax,” he advised, as he plunked his tray on the table across from her.

Relax? Was he kidding?

“You were tense all through rounds,” he pointed out, after taking a healthy bite of his burger. “Since you can’t seem to relax while working with me, I’d be happy to support a request for you to transfer off Trauma.”

Transfer off Trauma? She stared at him in horror. Was that even an option? But she narrowed her gaze when she noted the flicker of hope in his eyes. Oh, sure, he’d love her to transfer off Trauma, wouldn’t he? That would be a ridiculously easy way to get rid of her. Well, fat chance. Kyle was right—summer was the best time to be on Trauma. No way was she going to admit defeat. “I’m not tense, just excited,” she said, stretching the truth just a bit. “Being on Trauma is a total thrill. I’ve done more procedures today than general-surgery interns do in a week.”

“You might change your mind after working thirty hours straight,” he said, as if surprised by her response.

Keeping the easy smile on her face wasn’t easy, considering she knew how incredible he looked naked.

Stop it! She had to stop thinking about that.

She shrugged. “It’s all part of the package, right? I pulled plenty of all-nighters during medical school, so it won’t be anything new.” He had no idea how she’d struggled to juggle two jobs along with the responsibilities of being on service as a third- and fourth-year med student. “I know the hours are long and the pay is dismal but I’m totally psyched to learn everything I can.”

“The pay won’t be dismal forever,” he murmured.

She remembered his chrome and glass condo decor and decided there was no reason to be rude. “I know. But, really, it doesn’t matter. I’ve always worked hard and at least now I’m doing something I truly enjoy.” And nothing, especially not a sexy attending physician, was going to stop her.

“Oh, yeah?” He lifted a curious gaze. “What did you used to do?”

She blanched and stared at her fries for a second. “Oh, you know, the usual low-paying jobs to get through college,” she said evasively.

“Did you grow up around here?”

Uh-oh, now he was treading on dangerous ground. She didn’t want anyone to know the details of the life she’d worked hard to leave behind. Especially not Jake. Dr. Holt. “Er...no, not really.” She’d grown up in a galaxy far, far away. Or so it seemed. Time to change the subject. “But I have to say, it’s amazing how Chicago Care is so close to the lake. I just love watching the sun rise over Lake Michigan in the mornings. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the sight.”

For a long moment, his dark gaze pierced hers and suddenly she knew he was remembering their morning together. Had it been just two days ago? Seemed like much longer.

Another lifetime. For a nanosecond, she wished they could go back to simply being the two people attracted to each other who’d met at the bar.

“Yes, the view of the lake is spectacular,” he agreed. Was the husky note in his tone her imagination? Probably.

They were professionals. Working together. That’s all.

Her pager went off and she was grateful for the interruption. “This is the surgical ICU calling. Sorry, but I need to go.”

“Why don’t you call them first to see what they want?” he asked. “You might not need to sacrifice the rest of your meal.”

She needed to get away from him, for many reasons, but most of all her sanity. She jumped on the excuse to leave. “It’s a text page about Mr. Turkow’s blood pressure—it’s down. I need to run up and examine him.”

Jake frowned and nodded. “All right. Call me if you need me,” he said. “I’ll be by to check on him later.”

“Of course.” As if there was any other option? He was the boss, after all. She took one last bite of her chicken sandwich and then hauled her tray to the sideboard, feeling his gaze on her back as she left.

She let out a sigh of relief when she stepped into the elevator to head up to the third floor. She could do this. Work with Jake as a professional.

She had no choice but to do this.

* * *

By midnight, Hannah had lost count of the number of pages she received. Thank God for her note cards because she’d responded to some issue on almost every patient on their service and she’d never have been able to keep track of the patients without her notes.

As Jake had predicted, she didn’t even see the inside of her call room until two in the morning. She stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes. One hour. She desperately needed one hour of peace and quiet.

At two forty-five, her pager went off, announcing the arrival of a new trauma patient. Overall, the night had been quiet as far as trauma calls went. But maybe the trauma activity only started to heat up in the wee hours of the morning.

The responsibility of being a doctor seemed almost overwhelming. Yet this was something she’d dreamed about for years. Ever since she’d been hospitalized with a ruptured appendix at the age of thirteen. Her surgeon, Dr. Marilee McDaniel, had been amazing. After a week in the hospital, Hannah had vowed to be just like her.

The hardships would be worth it. Hannah rolled out of bed and splashed some water on her face in a pathetic attempt to wipe away the fatigue. Forty-five minutes was almost an hour, wasn’t it?

Of course it was.

She headed down to the trauma bay, only to find Jake already there, standing at the patient’s bedside. He didn’t look nearly as tired as she felt.

“What do we have?” she asked in a low voice.

“A young man with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome.” Jake glanced up at her. “Are you familiar with it?”

Ehlers-Danlos syndrome? She stared at him. Her mind went blank. Absolutely, completely blank.

“No?” The sharp disappointment in his tone hurt, more than it should have. “I suggest you do some research—it’s a rare genetic disorder.”

She glanced over at the patient, a very handsome young man who looked to be in his early twenties. He was moaning and grimacing, as if he was in excruciating pain.

“Start a dilaudid pain pump and get a full-body CT scan,” Jake said to the nurse. “And I want to see the results of his CT scan, stat.”

Hannah pushed the emotionally draining exhaustion away and forced herself to focus. She had read about the disease, she knew she had. As she and Jake stepped away from the bedside, she finally pulled the knowledge from the deep recesses of her brain. “Ehlers-Danlos syndrome is classified by weak tissue, primarily blood vessels, resulting in multiple aneurysms.”

“Yes.” There was a flash of approval in Jake’s gaze. But then he turned serious again. “Unfortunately, Christopher Melbourne was first diagnosed with this disease at the age of seven.”

Seven? Good heavens, she couldn’t even imagine. “It’s a miracle he’s survived this long,” she murmured.

“Yes. Although with the abdominal pain he’s currently experiencing, I’m very much afraid he has a leaking abdominal aortic aneurysm.”

Her stomach clenched. Abdominal aortic aneurysms were known to be serious, life-threatening conditions. “Can you surgically repair it?”

“No. Too risky. All his blood vessels are weak and fragile, to the point that they would never hold a new tissue graft. As it is, he’s been walking around with a large aneurysm in his axillary artery that no surgeon has been brave enough to repair.”

They couldn’t operate? “So what can we do for him?”

Jake slowly shook his head, and she caught a surprising glimpse of true anguish in his eyes.

“Nothing. Except make him as comfortable as possible until he dies.”

CHAPTER FOUR

JAKE stared at the dismal results of Christopher’s CT scan, battling a surge of helplessness. He’d never seen an abdominal aneurysm this huge, extending from the heart all the way down to the kidneys. He was amazed Christopher was still coherent. No way could he afford to operate on this poor kid. He’d die on the O.R. table for sure.

There was nothing worse than losing a young patient.

Except maybe standing by and doing nothing while watching him die.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed. No matter how much he wished otherwise, there wasn’t a single treatment option he could offer. Except comfort measures. He walked back to Christopher’s bedside where Hannah was finishing her head-to-toe assessment. “I’ve confirmed a leaking triple A,” he said in a low tone, not meant for Christopher to hear. “We need to get him transferred up to the surgical ICU.”

“Doctor...have you...called my father?” Christopher asked Hannah, his wide eyes sunken into his thin face.

Hannah leaned over and took Christopher’s frail hand firmly in hers. As they’d worked together over the past several hours, Jake had noticed she touched patients a lot. Connecting in a way that made them trust her. If she kept up the way she was going, she’d be a great surgeon. “Yes, he’s on his way.”

“Good,” Christopher whispered, before closing his eyes on another wave of pain.

Hannah brought her tortured gaze up to meet Jake’s and he slowly shook his head at her unspoken question. If he could somehow pull off a miracle, he would. But Christopher was dying. The boy’s fate was no longer in his hands.

Just as they were about to wheel him up to the ICU, his father, Allen Melbourne, rushed in, eyes wide with fear. “Chris? Are you okay?”

“Dad,” Chris whispered, reaching out for his father. “I’m glad you’re here. The pain is bad. Really bad.”

Jake saw the question in the father’s eyes and hastened to assure him. “We have him on a pain pump, with a substantial dose of the strongest narcotic we have. He should start to feel better soon. And we’re moving him to the ICU.”

“Not to surgery?” Allen asked with a frown, glancing between Jake and Hannah.

“No. I’m afraid Chris isn’t a candidate for surgery,” Jake said, as gently as he could. At this point Chris was technically a full code, but Jake had no plans to actively resuscitate him. In fact, he shouldn’t really take him to the ICU, but he wanted Chris and his father to know he’d be closely watched.

Myriad emotions played over Allen’s face until, eventually, resigned acceptance remained. Jake noticed Hannah’s eyes glistening with tears, but then she quickly pulled herself under control.

“We’re going to take very good care of your son,” she promised.

“I know,” Allen said simply. He held his son’s hand as they wheeled him down the hall toward the elevators. The simple ride to the third floor seemed excruciatingly long.

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